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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24391597">Only a fool gives this away</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thetwistingdeceit/pseuds/Thetwistingdeceit'>Thetwistingdeceit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Body Horror, Fluff, Implied Jonah/Jonathan, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, barnabas is the ultimate simp and I love him, period typical attitudes towards mental illness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:00:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24391597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thetwistingdeceit/pseuds/Thetwistingdeceit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Truth be told, the majority of what Jonah considers his work disquiets Barnabas. But still, there's a joy to it, to being one of the people Jonah decides to include, to confide in. It is Barnabas he chooses to rant to in these twilight hours, too excited by his work to even attempt to keep the words in. His own disquiet be damned if it meant getting to see Jonah like this.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barnabas Bennett/Jonah Magnus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Associated Articles Regarding One Jonah Magnus</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Only a fool gives this away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>the period typical views on mental illness warning applies to a bit of text where Barnabas refers to those affected by the various fears as being prone to flights of fancy and madness and isn't a major focus of the fanfic. Body horror refers to the statement discussed in fic, and while not a major part it is still definitely present.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jonah comes back to him just before the sun starts to set. Barnabas is reclining in his foyer, glass of wine in hand as he idly thumbs through an old, well-loved copy of Hamlet. It's been a lazy day, a lazy week. The air that wafts through his open windows is still tepid, even as the hot summer slowly gives way to the cooler airs of fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, Jonah doesn’t bother to knock, only fits his key in the lock and opens the front door with no regard to the scare it might cause. The creak of the door pulling open sends a jolt through Barnabas, even with his awareness of Jonah’s habits and the low likelihood that anyone else would find themselves on Barnabas’s doorstep. The drink Barnabas has in his hand spills as he jolts up from the chair, words of protest dying in his mouth as he sees a familiar head of curly red hair poke through the door.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonah smiles at him from the doorway, and Barnabas barely has time to raise his hand in greeting before Jonah rushes in. Jonah practically blows past him into the house like it’s Barnabas who's the intruder, like it's Jonah who owns the place. In many ways he does. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well, hello to you too.” Barnabas calls out after Jonah’s retreating form, exasperation and fondness flooding through him in equal measures as Jonah does nothing but look back briefly and gestures to follow him into the house.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a moment to pause in the kitchen, and considers grabbing a bottle of wine to share between the two of them before discarding the idea. Judging from the energy Jonah was displaying, wine would be the last thing on his mind. Sighing, Barnabas makes his way through his house. There really isn’t any doubt to what room Barnabas will find Jonah in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The estate is as much his as the name “Bennet”. That is to say, left to him by parents who cared little for him outside of the concept of a second son, but associated with a great deal of wealth. Something he was certainly grateful for, but held no real emotional connection to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one exception to that rule is his library. Nestled in a corner in the right wing of the house, the library is small but crowded, the one thing that even after all the years that have passed since his parents death, he considers truly his. Barnabas had filled it with books on Greek Mythology, Archeology, and poetry for him, and books on the esoteric, philosophy and religion for Jonah. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span> Jonah had confided in him once, early in their relationship, about how much he adored the Bennet estate’s library. The two had been sprawled out on the library's floor, drunk half on wine worth more than what an average man could make in a year and half on Jonah’s ideas for the future. It had been some family gathering, some irrelevant form of socialization and flaunting of wealth that Barnabas felt was wholly a waste of time. This one had been much more taxing than usual, so much so that Barnabas had noticed that even Jonah, someone who was generally speaking ever so sociable, was waning.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Barnabas had pulled him aside, away from the party, to the one room in the place he knew the two wouldn’t be disturbed. There had been protests, of course, and the sense that Jonah wasn’t exactly fond of the fact that Barnabas knew him so well already, but nevertheless he let himself be pulled away into the library. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had found themselves sitting together on the library's floor, taking turns drinking from the bottle of champagne Barnabas had managed to snatch away from one of the waiters at the party. “Why,” Barnabas had asked, taking a long swig before giving the bottle over to Jonah's grasping hands, “do you find such gatherings so entertaining, Magnus.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonah had startled at that, going into a rant Barnabas had heard many times before and would many times again. Barnabas had leaned over, gently wrapping an arm around Jonah’s shoulder. Jonah had slumped against him then, hints of his Scottish accent slipping out as he drawled about his ambitions, about his hunger to move up in the world, about how he had always wanted a library like this to call his own. About how one day the world would be his. It should've worried Barnabas then, he supposed, how he wished more than anything in the world to give all of it and more to Jonah. Even then Jonah had sunk his teeth in deep. Even then the place was more </span>
  <em>
    <span>theirs </span>
  </em>
  <span>than just his. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He finds Jonah in nearly the same spot, standing this time, excitedly running his hands over the different books lining the shelf that was distinctly his. His head turns briefly in acknowledgement of Barnabas’ presence before returning to the books, seemingly intent on finding whatever particular novel would correlate to whatever he and Fanshawe had discussed. He looks harried, and tired and alive. There’s a bruise on Jonah’s neck, dark and angry in contrast to the freckles scattered across his face and shoulders, resting right at the junction of Jonah’s neck and collarbone. If he looks closely, Barnabas can almost see the hints of bandaging he’s certain Jonah has underneath his shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He feels it then, the familiar pang of </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>he always felt when he thought about Jonah’s relationship with Jonathan Fanshawe. Some lingering mix of attraction, confusion and guilt clouding his thoughts whenever he thought of the man. Yet Barnabas had to be thankful; there was no longer any real jealousy or fear about his relationship with Jonah. Still. Despite his best efforts, his relationship with Dr. Fanshawe could be best described as… complicated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the corner of his eye, Barnabas can see the small smirk that flashes across Jonah’s face as he catches Barnabas looking at the bruise on his neck, his discomfort not going unnoticed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Barnabas paces over, slipping his own hand into Jonah's much smaller one.  Barnabas tugs him  away from the bookshelf, towards the large mahogany table in the center of the room, not wanting to linger on these thoughts and curious about whatever story Jonah wished to share with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. I'm sure Jonathan had quite a story to share with you to get you in such a hurry Jonah,” he says, pulling out one of the table's chairs for Jonah to sit on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello to you too Barnabas.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Says the man who stormed right into my house!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonah just hums at that, taking his seat at the table.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Circling over to the other end of the table, Barnabas doesn’t have to look down to know that Jonah’s feet don't quite touch the ground. He certainly knows the ire he’ll provoke if he so much as mentions it to Jonah. Judging by the determined look on the man's face, such observations would be better for another date, Barnabas decides, sitting back in his own chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heaving the satchel he has at his side, Jonah begins to unpack the papers he had gathered on his expedition. Barnabas can just about make out the quills and ink Jonah insisted on carrying with him wherever he went before he snaps the satchel back shut, attention returning to the papers in front of him. Medical diagrams, and what he can recognize as one of Fanshawe’s letters, his ever-neat script scrawling across the pages. Barnabas can just about make out what looks like a tooth before an expectant huff from Jonah draws his gaze back upwards. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It's an old ritual of theirs, asking. Barnabas knows that Jonah won’t start his tale until Barnabas asks it of him, and Jonah knows Barnabas will not be able to resist the urge to ask for long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barnabas leans forward, resting his head on his hands. “Now tell me, Jonah. What manner of horror have you managed to find yourself entwined with this time?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Jonah responds like he always does and will, diving into the story at hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truth be told, the majority of what Jonah considers his work disquiets Barnabas. But still, there's a joy to it, to being one of the people Jonah decides to include, to confide in. It is Barnabas he chooses to rant to in these twilight hours, too excited by his work to even attempt to keep the words in. His own disquiet be damned if it meant getting to see Jonah like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember the reason why I’ve been visiting with Dr. Fanshawe this past fortnight, Yes?” Jonah asks, dropping his gaze from Barnabas’s, back to the letters he has splayed across the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes, although I was under the assumption that this meeting was more for pleasure than for business.” Barnabas answers, with a small smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonah doesn’t even look up at that, only whacks at Barnabas’s hand with the letter he had just picked up. Barnabas withdraws his hand in mock protest, the smile spreading across his face betraying any attempt he could make at an objection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, if you're not going to pay attention, I’m sure I can take my leave and </span>
  <em>
    <span>easily</span>
  </em>
  <span> find someone who's more interested in what I have to say.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s a lie, and they both know it. Jonah will stay regardless of whether or not he can share his story, his fondness for Barnabas and fatigue from his travels essentially guaranteeing his stay at the estate tonight. And Barnabas will sit still and listen to him quietly, reverently, no matter what quips or jokes he’d make at the start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Barnabas says demurely.  “Why were you visiting with Dr. Fanshawe?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonah lights back up at that. “He had written to me regarding a string of cases he was sure I’d find most interesting. And he was more than right, Barnabas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pauses, shuffling through the papers to find the right one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s been reports of those afflicted with a mysterious rot of their bone tissue. Cases of those who were previously completely well succumbing in weeks to some mysterious form of illness not explained by any other likely cause. The bodies dissected were found to have the bones inside almost flaking away upon the slightest of touches from the investigators.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans forward, showing Barnabas a diagram of a leg bone with shards of bone pulled away so detailed that it leaves him feeling a tad queasy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now here's where it gets interesting, Barnabas. Underneath the bones themselves... </span>
  <em>
    <span>flesh </span>
  </em>
  <span>was starting to grow—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barnabas begins to feel his focus slip away, as he watches Jonah truly sink into the story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s resplendent like this, all structured focus and intent. His eyes are alight with passion as he discusses whatever strange horror had grabbed his attention. It unnerves Barnabas  sometimes, the interest Jonah has for the macabre. Sometimes it feels like he knew two Jonah’s, the one that the rest of the world got to see, snarky and quick-witted, and the Jonah only he was permitted to see, right here, unguarded and hungry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It enraptures him, the way Jonah lights up when he talks about his work, lights up in a way Barnabas rarely gets to see him. He’s unguarded in these moments, almost boyish in his enthusiasm to share, to tell, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barnabas hears bits and pieces of the story, keying back in whenever Jonah is too distracted to notice his accent slipping back in. Something about how it didn’t seem to be spreading between family members. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some nights, Barnabas finds it hard to sleep, the stories he’s heard tossing and turning with him in his bed. The rational part of him knows that the stories Jonah collected were nothing more than flights of fancy from those poor souls afflicted with the most terrible of conditions—madness. That all the strange medical cases Fanshawe manages to get his hands on are nothing more than anomalies, odd instances only truly notable by those devoted to a man who hungered for those stories more than air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The irrational part of Barnabas lingers on the conviction in Jonah’s voice as he recounts his tales. A perfect eyeball found in some poor girl's neck, a man cut open to reveal fungi and spores growing inside his very skull, wretched by all meanings of the word.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, while Barnabas was a man who liked to consider himself quite logical, it was always hard to put some of Jonah’s stories to rest. Those nights where he couldn't sleep were always more frequent when Jonah wasn’t in his bed, his comforting weight against his chest breathing in time with him. It was hard to feel truly afraid when Jonah was around. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The light of the fireplace spreads out across the table as the sun outside the estate slowly sets, bathing Jonah in its orange glow and making his head of curly hair almost look alight. Bits of the light filter onto his face, highlighting his freckles and giving an almost golden hue to his green eyes. He’s beautiful like this, although Barnabas would be hard pressed to find a situation where he didn’t find Jonah beautiful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This wasn’t the first case like this, no. He’d heard of others, Barnabas, investigated them for me knowing it would be something I’d find interesting. This was the first time the affliction spread to the tooth, the first time it could be directly observed in a living victim.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jonah talking with his hands now, papers on the table forgotten, the excitement in his voice building as the story reaches its crescendo. Barnabas leans his head against his own hand, feels a dopey smile he can’t even begin to try to contain breaks across his face. His Jonah was resplendent like this, and Barnabas can’t help but curse his lack of artistic inclination. Moments like these deserve to be immortalized in the finest of paints, the smoothest of words or the most splendid clay, not just in the memories of some forgotten second son. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beneath the flesh itself was another tooth, malformed and rotten but growing its way into her mouth. Barnabas— Barnabas, are you even listening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jolting Barnabas looks up startled to see Jonah staring at him from across the table, irritation clear on his face. Well. It appears his lack of attention had been noticed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you hear a word of what I just said? “Jonah snaps, brow furrowed in annoyance.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Jonah. You just look so beautiful like this. I couldn't help but think about what a shame it is that I have no skill to capture it with.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonah flushes at that, red spilling out from the apples of his cheeks till it blotches his whole face. Idly Barnabas wonders if the blush was spreading across his whole chest. Idly Barnabas knows that questions such as those were to come later in the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t think some pretty words can distract me from the fact that you weren’t listening to a word I just said, Bennett.” Jonah says, making as if to gather up the papers in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barnabas chuckles, leaning forward to take Jonah's hand in his. The man hesitates only briefly before giving in, threading his fingers between Barnabas’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you can't blame me for being distracted by such a pretty face, now can you, angel? You’ve certainly won over greater men than I with nary a wink or smile. How am I supposed to resist when you look so captivating?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jonah smiles despite himself, ego reluctantly soothed. For all of Jonah’s bite, he still remains susceptible to honest praise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As much as I appreciate your flattery, Barnabas, I do think you should be able to listen to one measly story without getting distracted... Or was I wrong in that assumption?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barnabas lets out an exaggerated sigh both of them know that he doesn’t really mean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose, Jonah, although it will be a trying endeavor keeping my eyes off you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's still a smile on Jonah's face as he turns his gaze back down to the papers in front of him, and begins again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barnabas knows that when Jonah is done the two will retreat from the library back to his bedroom, knows how he won't be able to keep his hands to himself and how Jonah won’t truly mind. He knows the type of marks Jonathan must have left upon Jonah and he knows how it will feel to tenderly kiss his way along the bruises and cuts. He knows the taste of him, how Jonah will shudder and gasp against him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> But more than any of that Barnabas knows how it will feel to fall asleep with Jonah curled up against his chest. He knows how he’ll sleep in longer than Jonah the following morning, knows that he’ll awaken to Jonah's gaze locked on his, the feeling of his hands running gently through his hair. He knows Jonah in his most unguarded moments, knows that no matter what horrors he sees he’ll always return back home, return back to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Barnabas leans back in his chair and listens.  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've been way too lost in the 18'th century simp sauce as of late lads. This is the first serious fanfiction I've written in like 8 years. Major shout out to procrastinatingbookworm for editing this, I have no fuckin clue how grammar or comma's work. Another shoutout to everyone in the Jonah server reading this I love y'all<br/>#hereshowbarnabasbennettcanstilllive</p></blockquote></div></div>
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